me," said Jack.
"Miss d'Angely--"

"Oh, that's the lady's name, is it? I'm glad to know," mumbled Bertie,
as Jack whisked me away from under his nose.

"By Jove, I oughtn't to have let that out, ought I?" said Jack,
remorseful. "The less he knows about you, the better; and as Lady
Turnour has no idea of pronunciation, if it hadn't been for my
stupidity--"

"Don't call it that," I stopped him, as we began to dance. "It doesn't
matter a bit--unless it should occur to the Duchesse de Melun to ask
him questions about me. And I'd rather not think about that possibility,
or anything else disagreeable, to spoil this heavenly waltz."

"You _can_ dance a little, can't you?" said Jack, in a tone and with a
look that made the words better than any compliment any other man had
ever paid me on my dancing, though I'd been likened to feathers, and
vine-tendrils, and various poetically airy things.

"You aren't so bad yourself, brother," I retorted, in the same tone.
"Our steps suit, don't they?"

He muttered something, which sounded like "Just a little better than
anything else on earth, that's all"; but of course it couldn't really
have been what my ears tried to make my vanity believe.

When we stopped--which we didn't do while there was music to go on
with--I was conscious that people were looking at us, and nobody with
more interest than the Duchesse de Melun. I glanced hastily away before
my eye had quite caught hers; but no female thing needs to give a whole
eye to what is going on around her. I knew, although my back was soon
turned in her direction, that the Duchesse de Melun was talking to Lady
Turnour, and I guessed the subject of the conversation. Thank goodness,
my mistress's mind had never compassed more than a misleading "Elise,"
and thank goodness, also, many of the great folk were preparing to leave
us humble ones to ourselves, now that their condescension had been
proved in the first dance. Would the duchess go? Yes--oh joy!--she gets
up from her seat. She moves toward the door. Lady Turnour has risen too,
but sits down again, lured by the proximity of a princess. All will be
well, perhaps! The duchess mayn't think of catechizing Bertie, now that
my mistress has put her off the track. He, with several other young men,
evidently means to stop and see the fun out. If only he would sit still,
now, beside the marquise! But no. Miss Nelson and the Duc de Divonne are
going out together. Bertie must needs jump up an